


If I be wrong, if I be right, let me be here with you tonight

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bellarke mention, Companion Piece, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Pistols at Dawn, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Marcus, Clarke won't take my calls. I...” the woman on the other end of the line breaks off on a choked sob, continuing after a steadying breath. “I think I've lost her for good.”</p>
<p>After what Clarke has told him recently about Abby's part in Jake's death, Marcus is tempted to tell her that maybe she shouldn't have gambled with her husband's life then. But for all their differences, there's one thing about Abby Griffin that Marcus is sure about, and that is that she loved her husband; loves her daughter.</p>
<p>“Stay where you are, I'm coming over.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(A Kabby companion piece based on their little scene in Pistols at Dawn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I be wrong, if I be right, let me be here with you tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pistols at Dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314105) by [queenofchildren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren). 



> Since I managed to get all my other ships sailing in "Pistols at Dawn", I could not rest until Kabby got their moment too, so here's a little outtake about how the events in that story affect them. Plus, Abby comes off as such a villain in Pistols, I wanted to give her a chance to explain herself - I find it fascinating to see the conflict in her between wanting to do the right thing but being willing to completely ignore the bigger picture when it comes to protecting her daughter.

 

_Just as he gets up to pour himself a glass of the excellent wine he has bought from his favourite bodega, his phone rings, and Marcus picks it up on the way to the room's small kitchenette._

_The voice on the other end is familiar, but he hasn't heard it for so long that a little shock runs through him at the sound. He freezes in place before the open refrigerator, hand halfway to the wine bottle._

“ _Marcus, Clarke won't take my calls. I...” the woman on the other end of the line breaks off on a choked sob, continuing after a steadying breath. “I think I've lost her for good.”_

_After what Clarke has told him recently about Abby's part in Jake's death, Marcus is tempted to tell her that maybe she shouldn't have gambled with her husband's life then. But for all their differences, there's one thing about Abby Griffin that Marcus is sure about, and that is that she loved her husband; loves her daughter._

_With a sigh, he closes the refrigerator door._

“ _Stay where you are, I'm coming over.”_

_He hears her sniffly “thank you” just before hanging up, and five minutes later, Marcus is in a taxi on his way to the Griffin's elegant townhouse, the unopened wine bottle on the seat next to him._

***

 

Marcus hasn't even dropped his hand from the doorbell yet when the door swings open to reveal Abby Griffin, looking uncharacteristically casual in a pair of jeans and a loose sweater, with her hair down in messy waves instead of neatly swept up and out of her face the way she probably wears it for work. Before he can so much as say hello, she eagerly asks:

“Have you talked to Clarke? Is she okay?”

“Good evening to you too, Abby.” He feels a little bad for making her wait like this, but only a little. On the way over, he started having doubts about coming here, unsure if he'll be able to give her the comfort she wants when there's still anger at her simmering within him, threatening to bubble over at any moment.

She gives him a tense, apologetic smile and opens the door wide to let him through.

“I'm sorry. I'm not myself lately. Come on in.” He follows her invitation with some hesitation, irrationally expecting Jake's ghost to swoop down on him the second he crosses the threshold. But as soon as he does, he notices that she redecorated. The house's warm, bright yellow walls have been repainted a light blue and the worn-out couch and armchair in the living-room just off the hallway have been replaced with a sleek grey sofa and a Le Corbusier-style chaise longue. The place no longer looks like the cozy family home it used to be but like something straight out of a design magazine, and Marcus is glad about the change because it helps keep the memories of his dead best friend at bay.

“How are you?” It's more than a little odd of Abby to be so formal after she called him, crying, less than an hour ago. But he knows this is her trying to get herself back under control (she's a lot like Clarke in that respect), so if she wants to be polite and formal, that's what he'll be – for now.

“You know, same old.” Remembering the bottle of wine, he holds it out to her. “I brought something.”

“You shouldn't have.” But despite her polite protest, she takes the bottle and starts heading to the kitchen at the end of the hall. “Why don't you sit down in the living-room while I pour us both a glass of this? You're taking one, right?”

Before he can do more than nod, she bustles off and he takes off his coat, hangs it on the coat rack by the door and sits down on the sofa, which is thankfully more comfortable than it looks.

When Abby returns to the living-room and sets down the glasses, Marcus decides to stop making her wait and tell her what she wants to know.

“Clarke is great. She spends a lot of time at Bellamy's; I'm pretty sure they're a thing now.”

Abby doesn't say anything, but her less-than-enthusiastic expression tells him what she thinks of that.

“He's good for her, as far as I can tell. She works less and smiles more.”

“That's... good. If a little unexpected.”

“Not really. Not if you watched them together for more than five minutes. The man is completely in love with her.”

Abby nods but still looks skeptical. “I'm sure he is. But I can't help but feel that he was the one who dragged her into all this.”

“When was the last time anyone ever managed to drag Clarke into anything she didn't want to do? No, Abby, she chose to help him uncover the whole affair because it was the only way she could get closure over Jake. You should be proud of her, and thankful to Bellamy for helping her.”

“I _am_ proud. I just wish they hadn't almost died over it.”

“Well, you know who you have to thank for that.”

Abby remains stubbornly silent, her eyes roaming about the room as if she didn't see it every day. She's still trying to deflect, but now he's getting riled up – _she_ called him, _she_ was the one who wanted to talk. They're going to talk now, about everything, because her and Clarke are not the only ones who lost someone they loved eight years ago.

“Talk to Thelonious lately?”

She visibly flinches, her eyes pleading when they finally find his again. “Marcus, please...”

“I'm not letting you get away with acting like you had nothing to do with this. You don't think Clarke told me why she won't talk to you? I'm not saying I'm not hoping she got something wrong, but I won't let you pick and choose which parts of this whole sad story we're going to talk about. So unless you want me to get up and leave, you need to tell me if Clarke is right. Is it your fault Jake is dead?”

There's a long moment of silence, during which Marcus hopes with all his will that she'll say No, that this will all turn out to be a big misunderstanding instead of a sad, sick tragedy. And then she answers.

“Yes. But not in the way Clarke thinks.”

He doesn't know what to say to that revelation, but she thankfully keeps talking without further prodding.

“Jake knew Thelonious was somehow connected to the botched mission, but he didn't know just how. He wanted to do some further digging, and I thought, why not speed things up by just asking Thelonious about it? After all, he was my best friend and a good man, he could not possibly have been knowingly involved in a crime.” She shakes her head and picks up her glass, half-emptying it in one long draught. “God, I was so naïve. But I hoped that simply asking Thelonious what was going on would protect Jake, keep him from accidentally poking someone dangerous in his investigation. Little did I know it would do the opposite.” The words are accompanied with a wry twist of her lips, a grimace more than an actual smile.

“But why did you not tell anyone about it after Jake's death? Why not tell the police what Jake had found out and give them a chance to find his killer? And why the hell did you stay friends with Thelonious instead of getting him behind bars?” Marcus can hear his voice getting louder but he doesn't care, and Abby's expression is so steely by now he's fairly sure he could not make a dent in her armour if he physically tried. 

“We are hardly friends - I've spoken to him twice since this whole thing got dragged up again. But once I had decided not to pursue Jake's death, it hardly seemed necessary to cut ties with Thelonious and risk driving a wedge between Clarke and her best friend. As for why I did not go public, the answer is simple: For Clarke. I knew I should have gone to the police with what Jake told me, should have tried to get Thelonious and whoever else was behind this to own up to their crimes. But I was alone and scared. They had not only killed Jake that night, they almost killed Clarke too. I just wanted this whole thing to be over. Going public would only draw attention to us and endanger her further. I hoped that whoever was behind Jake's death felt safe enough to leave us alone if we just stayed quiet. I'm not selfless like Clarke and you are – I had to choose between the greater good and what I thought was best for my daughter, and I chose my daughter. I know now that the way I went about trying to protect her backfired spectacularly, but knowing what I did then, I thought it was the only chance I had to keep her safe.”

Her little speech comes out so smoothly that Marcus wonders how many times she's practised it, even if only in her head. Has she ever told anyone but Clarke about this? If not, how many times has she told herself the same thing, a defense from the overwhelming guilt she must be feeling and which is apparent even now in her dark eyes? But there is defiance too, in the slight raise of her chin, the straight-backed posture that says “I am not yours to judge” and that does nothing to diffuse his anger. Marcus lost his best friend, and it's her fault – the fault of the woman who claimed to love Jake, whose duty it would have been to protect and avenge him. But then, she's also a mother, and if she is to be believed, she felt back then that she had to choose between justice for Jake and keeping Clarke safe. Can he really judge her for the choice she made?

Abby takes a deep, trembling breath and finishes her plea. “So now you know: It's my fault that Jake died. But I did not kill him! There's a difference, there _has_ to be a difference...”

Her voice breaks, her hands which are holding the half-empty wine glass shaking so badly the red liquid threatens to spill on her light grey carpet, and he takes it and sets it on the table. He doesn't know what to say, but Abby, it's clear from the way she looks at him, needs him to say _something_. The tears that have risen to her eyes are starting to spill over and she lets them, making no attempt to wipe them away, and it is this sign of lost composure that sways him. Without thinking, he reaches out and pulls her close, understanding only when she slumps against him how draining this must have been for her.

“There is a difference.” He whispers the absolution into her hair but she hears it anyway and starts crying for good, shaking against him with heaving sobs, and he closes his arms around her and holds her close, hoping he made the right decision in forgiving her. Condemning her for what happened won't bring Jake back, but it will further hurt the two people he cared about the most.

So Marcus does the one thing he was determined not to do when he came here tonight: he leaves the past in the past. He rubs gentle circles on Abby's trembling back as she cries tears he suspects she's been holding back for a very long time, and waits for her to calm down again.

She does, gradually, the tension easing out of her with the last of her sobs until he can feel her breathing calm down, soft puffs of air brushing past the side of his neck while her hands tentatively slide over his shoulders, as if searching for something to hold on to but not sure if he will be the support she seeks. With a shuddering breath she pulls away, refusing to meet his eyes for a few moments. But she finally wipes away her tears, and when she picks up her glass again and takes a reasonably-sized sip instead of a desperate draught, he figures she'll be okay.

It's a relief, to be honest, because at some point holding her has gone from being an act of kindness to something that's not altogether unpleasant, and he's not sure he's comfortable with this. Getting to his feet a little more hastily than is altogether polite, Marcus is about to make an excuse about having an early day tomorrow when she looks at him once more and the determination on her face pins him in place.

“Stay. Please.“

He swallows hard, suppressing the still vivid memories that suddenly flash through his mind, of the shape of her pressed against him and the shiver he felt when she buried her face in his neck, and scrambles for a nonchalant reply.

“Sure. I hope your new sofa is more comfortable than your old one.“

His voice sounds forced and nervous but she smiles anyway, a sight he's not prepared for. Her smiles have always held power over him, more unsettling even than her disdainful looks when they were disagreeing over something.

“I do have a guest room, you know. But that's not what I meant.“

Marcus doesn't know what to say, doesn't so much as move for a long time while he ponders the request – or is it an offer? He's not quite sure. He's not sure what to make of this whole situation, because he's never been sure what to make of her. What is their story here, and what will it be if he stays?

It's not the story of a man who was in love with his best friend's wife, secretly pining for years. Far from it, in fact: he and Abby had often found it difficult to find common ground, with Jake acting as mediator between them and their relationship rapidly fizzling out after his death. Marcus has sometimes felt guilty for not being there for her more often after Jake's death – he suspects now that she's been lonely. And then there's the pestering thought that maybe her decision to keep quiet about the reason behind Jake's death may have come out differently if he had been there to support her back then... 

So he stays and lets her pull him upstairs and into the bedroom. He's only been in here a few times back when Jake was still alive, but he remembers enough to note that this room too has been redecorated, and he's glad about it – it feels a little less like he's betraying his best friend when he kisses her. And really, Marcus thinks, he's not the same man who watched soccer games with Jake and little Clarke in the living-room, tucked his goddaughter into bed when Jake and Abby went out and asked him to babysit, and sat at the kitchen table with Jake after his mother's funeral, silently emptying a bottle of whisky with his best friend and crashing on the sofa for the night.

And Abby, strong, beautiful Abby, is a very different woman from the young doctor who used to come home from the hospital after gruelling shifts and still have enough energy to pick up her daughter and twirl her around, tease her husband about burning dinner, and make Marcus feel welcome even though she knew he would inevitably drag her into some kind of heated political discussion. No, the woman holding on to him like she's afraid to drown is not Jake's Abby. But she could be _his_ , if only for tonight. He briefly wonders if this is wrong – she's lonely, upset and a little drunk, judging by how quickly they emptied the bottle of wine. But when he pulls back to look at her, her face is still determined, her eyes pleading as she whispers:

“Please don't ask me if I'm sure.”

He concedes her wish with a little nod, pushing away the last of his guilt as he reaches for her again and lets his hands slide up under her sweater. Jake is dead, and Abby is here and needs... maybe not him, specifically, but _someone_.

It would be hypocritical to pretend that he lets her unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders purely for selfless reasons. There's nothing selfless about running his hands over her smooth skin, letting his lips wander from her mouth to the side of her neck, tugging off that soft sweater and the simple black bra beneath to close his lips over one hard nipple and relish the throaty moan it elicits. And when she pulls him onto the bed on top of her, cradling his body between her legs, he decides to stop thinking about anything else, simply lose himself in her and help her lose herself in the process, because that's all she's asking of him.

Never has any request been easier to grant.

***

 

When he wakes up the next morning, it's still early but Abby is already gone, and there's a note on the kitchen table telling him to help himself to breakfast and just pull the door shut behind him. It's short and brisk in tone, and he can't help but speculate about how she felt when she wrote it – full of guilt, regret, shame? Or were her thoughts simply on the day ahead of her, her head cleared and back to business after her night of weakness? He skips breakfast, less than eager to spend any more time alone in her kitchen with only his muddled thoughts for company. As he pulls the door shut behind him, he resigns himself to never finding out if their night together helped her or made things worse.

Abby does not outright answer the question when she calls him a few days later, but she does ask if he wants to come over for dinner sometime, her voice shaking slightly as if she was nervous. It's only the prospect of seeing unshakeable Abby Griffin nervous that makes him accept her invitation, Marcus tells himself. But he spends the night again nonetheless, and this time, there's no mention of the guest room.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I like how quickly Kane forgave Abby and how quickly things unfolded in this story, but oh well. (Apparently, the Griffin women have a tendency to use sex as an emotional painkiller.)  
> Title is from Wolf Larsen's "If I be wrong".


End file.
